


Cock of Glory

by Vae



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam’s dropped out of contact. Brad tracks him down. Porn ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cock of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lokte for the first read notes and lvs2read for the beta. This was originally written for aianonlovefest on LiveJournal [here](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/6425.html?thread=6227481#t6227481) and took six months to finish, so huge thanks to those who stuck with it and apologies to those who waited long intervals for updates. Feedback and concrit always welcome.

So it gets to Thursday and no one, like, really this time, no one has apparently heard anything from Adam since the weekend. Brad's even gone so far as to call Tommy and he'd made a solemn fucking vow never to call Adam's band mates about Adam. (Monte totally doesn't count because he was a friend first and that applies to Terrance too and shut up, they're totes valid exceptions but they hadn't heard from Adam anyway and just maybe there actually was something to all the shit Adam and Tommy got up to on stage that Brad wouldn't admit in a million years to a pack of wild dogs that he'd actually watched on YouTube.) Not that breaking his vow got him anywhere except finding out that someone _else_ hadn't heard from Adam either.

Danielle, nada. Scarlett, zip. Lee, zilch. Alisan, he loves the girl, but if he has to hear _one_ more story about her new boyfriend he's legiterally going to get diabetes from the sugar overload and his health insurance isn't up to that.

Finally, and only because Adam has clearly gone insane and declared himself a hermit and there's only one person in the entire world who's likely to know anything about that kind of religious retreat isolation sort of thing, Brad gives into desperation and calls Kris. Oh, please, like he hadn't copied Pocket Idol's number from Adam's phone for potential blackmail purposes the first chance he got.

"So give," he demands, as soon as Kris answers. "What have you done with him?"

There's silence for a moment. Something Brad hopes is thoughtful silence or conferring-with-Adam silence, but no such luck, because when Kris speaks, his voice is thick with sleep. "Brad?"

That's when Brad remembers that the guy's touring and maybe time zones mean that it's four a.m. wherever the Idol has landed and that isn't always the best time to take a call. Whatever, this is _important_. "Yes, it's me, your life is now complete, now tell me where he is!"

"He who?"

So apparently the guy's stupid when he's woken up in the middle of the night. "Adam, who else would I be calling you about?"

"Adam?" Well, at least there's a little more alertness there. "I haven't heard from him since I called right after Jamie broke up with him."

Progress at last. "When was that?"

"Uh... Saturday. Brad, what's going on?"

"I was _hoping_ you could tell me," Brad says pointedly. Saturday. Jamie. But...shit, Adam's only been seeing Jamie for like a month and that's not enough to make Adam do the disappearing act without even telling anyone and making a huge production out of it. Usually. "He's dropped off of the face of the planet. He's not picking up his emails, he's not answering calls, he hasn't been on Twitter."

"Is he answering his door?"

Oh, yes! Brad _knew_ he'd called the right person. "You're a genius. Night, babes!"

Door. It's brilliant in its simplicity. He hangs up, grabs his wallet, skips out onto the street and picks up the first free cab that came along.

\-----

Okay, so Brad hadn't bargained for the fact that Adam has fucking security on his building now. He leans - hard - on the intercom. Even if Adam's holing up, eventually he's gonna get fed up of the noise and answer. When the long tone doesn't work, he stabs his finger on the button, tapping out a rhythm until he finally, finally gets an answering buzz and the rasp of Adam's voice. "Fuck off, Brad."

At least he's recognizable. "No way, princess. Open the fucking gate."

"Why?"

Shit, really not good. "Because I miss you," he deadpans. "Honey-bun, it's been four whole days..."

"Fuck _off_."

Right. So not fucking off. Something's seriously off here because last time he checked? That wouldn't have hit any raw nerves. "Kris told me about Jamie."

"Kris doesn't _know_ about Jamie," crackles tiredly from the speaker.

"Well, apparently _Kris_ knows more about Jamie than any of your _old friends_." He leans on the words more heavily than he'd leaned on the buzzer. "You really wanna have this conversation through your intercom?" Because this is getting a little surreal and there are probably paps hiding in the undergrowth or something. It _is_ Adam's place after all.

There's the sound of a sigh, then a faint click. Brad allows himself enough time for a fistpump of victory before pushing the gate open, waving to the possible pap, and closing the gate firmly behind him.

\----

Once he's inside the gate, getting inside the door is like a billion times easier. Okay, so mostly because Adam's left it open for him but still, easier. Brad slips inside, shuts the door, and goes in search of Adam.

He tracks the elusive Adam down in his lounge (bonus, not long to search) and while Adam's pretty obviously not sick, he looks like shit. "You look like shit," Brad says brightly. "Hi."

Adam looks up, eyes wide and dark, something Brad can't read in their depths. "Hi," he says, almost uncertainly. "Why are you here?"

"Nice to see you too," Brad says pointedly and pushes at Adam's legs with his foot (not kicking, no, really not, just repeated vigorous pushing) until Adam makes room for him on the sofa. "So, spill. You didn't even _like_ Jamie that much. This is about Jamie, right?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Adam shuts down, face blank, and fuck, he's practically folded in on himself. He's too big to actually disappear, but it looks like he's trying.

Brad sighs, eyes the old saggy sweats Adam's wearing with a certain level of horror, and stretches out, crossing his legs at his ankles and resting his feet on Adam's lap. "So this isn't your lucky day, suck it up. Jamie was a dick, blah blah blah, he didn't deserve you, tell me he didn't sell stories about your dick to Perez and TMZ."

Adam laughs. There's a faintly bitter sound to it that Brad really hates recognizing. "He really didn't."

Not getting anywhere. Okay. New tactic. "No one's heard from you since the break-up, I mean, it's one thing when we think you're shut away somewhere having masses and masses of amazing sex," and those are memories he's never letting go of, thanks, "but you know, you usually let us know when that happens."

Adam pushes his feet away and stands up, pacing across the room. "I said I didn't wanna talk about it."

Tough, because Brad does. "Bullshit, babe. What do you wanna talk about, then?"

Adam pauses with his back to Brad and his shoulders hunched. Curse the bastard, he still looks beautiful. "Did I ever hurt you?"

Not what he's been expecting, at all. That's serious talk. Like the stuff they don't do since Adam packed up the Cock of Glory (capitalization totes deserved) and went off to do the whole Idol thing. "Hurt me?" he echoes blankly.

"Hurt you," Adam repeats, not turning around.

"Well, the whole thing where you _dumped me_ ," Brad begins with absolutely no clue where this is going.

"Not that kind of hurt, I mean, sex. When we had sex. Did I hurt you?"

Brad decides right there and then that he hates Jamie's soul and wonders if he knows anyone who could actually superglue the asshole's asshole closed. "Hurt me like how?" Because this is a subject that could go really wrong, really fast.

Adam spins around to face him and Brad notices to his complete amazement that Adam - glorious, shameless, sex incarnate, up for anything, free and easy Adam - is actually blushing. "With my dick, okay? When I fucked you, did it hurt?"

He's pretty sure he can guess what answer Adam wants but he's not going to lie, even for that. "Yeah," he says, very softly and gently.

Adam _crumples_. He doesn't even come back to the couch, just sinks down to the floor and curls around himself, knees tucked up, arms wrapped around his legs, face hidden against his knees. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

It aches. Seeing Adam like this, seeing that beautiful confidence shattered, everything he worked with Adam to build up just destroyed, it hurts more than anything else could, and not in a good way, either. Brad mentally upgrades Jamie's punishment to castration _and_ having his asshole superglued shut, possibly with the dismembered dick sealed inside, and slides off the couch to kneel next to Adam. "Because I liked it, you stupid bitch."

"You..." Adam lifts his head, staring in not exactly flattering shock at Brad. "You liked me hurting you?"

Brad waves a hand, not exactly comfortable with the conversation, but whatever, if it gets Adam out of seclusion. "I liked feeling your cock, okay? And that's before we even go near the whole endorphins thing and okay, not touching the masochist thing because bitch, please, hedonist all the way, but knowing we were both working to get you in me? Doesn't get much better."

It sounds brittle, maybe, but it's true and it's mostly brittle because of how true it is, but how many people have to end up reassuring their ex that the sex was great when it was out of this world amazingly great and he's not ever going to get it again and maybe hasn't matched it since? He'd better be getting major, major karmic points for this.

He's rewarded with a faint smile that's almost definitely karmic bonus. Adam reaches a hand out to touch fingers lightly to his cheek. It's almost more than Brad can bear.

"You're a sweetheart," Adam says quietly. "Seriously? You liked it?"

Brad rolls his eyes. "I fucking loved it, okay? Can we move on now?" Because no matter what else Adam had ever been, he'd never been a cocktease. (And the sweetheart thing was totes staying between the two of them.)

"He said..." Adam pauses, drops his hand, but still meets Brad's eyes. "He said I'm too big and... addicted to sex."

Oh, that was it. That was last chance officially destroyed. Word was going to get _out_ and Jamie would never get laid in Hollywood ever again. Or New York. It would go out on Twitter and the dickwad would live a life of sad, lonely celibacy. With his asshole glued shut. "So he's a frigid bitch who's never getting laid again in his life, what the fuck did you ever see in him?"

Adam blinks and then laughs, and that's a beautiful, wonderful sound, filling the room like happy music. "He had really pretty hair?"

"I'm finding out his hairdresser and sabotaging it," Brad vows. "One tightass and you're shutting yourself away in your tower, princess?"

The laughter fades and so does the brightness in Adam's eyes. "Not just one."

Oh, for the love of... "How many?"

"The last three guys," Adam admits. "They didn't wanna do anal after the first time because it hurt too much and Sean said I was a sex fiend..."

Another name for the list. Brad makes a mental note and files it away. "Well, you do go for tiny guys, baby." Though Adam had always taken plenty of time to open him up, enough that he'd been desperate and writhing and did he mention _begging_ by the time Adam finally fucked him and he really needed to stop thinking about that because he was getting hard and that wasn't part of their package deal any more. "Did Drake complain?"

"No," Adam says slowly. "And you jumped me as often as I jumped you."

More, probably, and Brad remembers, shit, how he remembers, the times he practically climbed Adam and demanded to be fucked. It's getting harder and harder to keep remembering that it's _past_. "So if we're doing the honesty thing, how come you'll fuck Cassidy and you haven't fucked me since we broke up? Is _that_ because he's not tiny?"

Adam rubs his hands over his face. For the first time, Brad notices that Adam's not even wearing make-up, freckles standing out stark against skin that looks like it hasn't even seen sunlight since the weekend. "I haven't fucked Cassidy in six months," he says, and it sounds unguarded, like something he wouldn't usually say. Maybe Brad's got past the barriers for once.

"But he gets friends with benefits," Brad says pointedly. "How come I lost benefits?"

"I was never in love with Cassidy," Adam says.

Brad's world _stops_.

There's a mix of emotions he can't even analyze and he's used to analyzing his emotions. It's healthy to know yourself, but this, fuck, this is so not analyzable (shut up, it's totes a valid word). There's elation, because he _had_ that with Adam no matter how it ended, no matter how they fought, they always had love, solid and strong and true and _alive_. There's petty jealousy, because Cassidy gets the Cock of Glory and he doesn't. And there's something between terror and despair at Adam using the past tense. "You think it'd get complicated?"

Adam reaches out to him, fingers tracing down his arm, and takes his hand, thumb rubbing over his fingers. "I know it would."

Oh, fuck, he's about to say something really stupid, or potentially really stupid. It's also potentially amazingly wonderful so he's _got_ to take this chance. "Maybe I want complicated."

Adam's eyes flare dark and he tries to let go of Brad's hand. Tries and fails, because Brad's holding on tight. He's not letting go so easily this time. "Maybe I want you _and_ your fucking glorious cock."

"Brad - "

No. Fuck, no, he's not backing down now. "Maybe," he says, voice rising in volume and pitch, "maybe I never _stopped_ wanting that, was that ever a possibility that made it into your thick skull?"

"Nothing's _changed_." Adam stops trying to get his hand back and shifts so he's kneeling in front of Brad instead of sitting on his ass. "I'm working even more now, my profile's sky high, I'mma be off touring for most of the next _year_..."

"And none of that really matters and you know it," Brad interrupts. "Because you know what else hasn't changed? You know? Shut the fuck _up_ , princess, this is my turn. What else hasn't changed is that you still love me, or you'd have fucked me already."

"So if I fuck you now I don't love you?" Adam's voice has changed, too. Lighter, slightly rough at the edges, and oh, he remembers that tone, fucking loves that tone.

"If you fuck me now," he says softly, very deliberate, "I love _you_ , bitch. And your dick. So fuck me already."

"But - "

"I already _know_ you love me." And he does now, like a bubble of warmth in his chest, like elation, light and giddy. He didn't know, not before tonight, but there's no way he's mistaking that look in Adam's eyes. Peter Pan's happy thought because right now, he could fucking _fly_ without pharmaceutical aid. "This is the bit where you stop talking and kiss me."

Adam stares at him for a moment then smiles one of those wonderful wide smiles Brad's missed seeing so much, all focused on him, and kisses him. Adam's lips are rough and dry, which lends more credence to the being-shit-at-looking-after-himself theory, but they're warm, they're firm, they're every bit as sure as Brad remembers, and they still fit perfectly on his.

He bites down lightly on Adam's upper lip, reproval for making him wait so long already, then flicks his tongue against it before letting go. He's on his knees on Adam's living room floor, and Adam's on his knees, and Adam's hands are on his ass again, glory halle-fucking-lujah about damn _time_ , and Adam's lips are darkened from kissing him, and Brad's world is finally spinning back into place. "You can speak now," he says helpfully.

Apparently Adam can't. Adam just looks at him, lips parted and stretched in a wide, beautiful smile, and that's when Brad picks up on the fact that it wasn't only a kiss, that Adam's hands are on his arms, heavy and warm and strong. He shivers happily, just to feel the strength in them holding him there. "Or we can get off the floor and then you can speak," he allows. "You know, I hear beds are good for fucking."

Though he'll work with the floor, or the couch. Or the wall. Or the kitchen counter. That's part of the joy of Adam having moved to a new place, so many possible places they haven't fucked. Yet.

Except Adam's still Adam and of course nothing is that simple. Because Adam's looking at him with that _understanding_ look in his eyes (total boner-killer) and shaking his head gently. "Why would you want to?"

"Um, _hello_ , were you even listening to anything I just said?" Brad rolls his eyes, wriggles away and stands up, then reaches down to tug at Adam's shoulder to get him up off the fucking floor as well. "In no particular order, I love you. You love me. Your dick is glorious and my ass is a work of fucking _art_ , they should get together and make sweet, sweet music. Like now."

And since Adam's apparently not getting the point, Brad lets go of him, bends over, and pries his shoes off. Then socks and, since Adam's still just watching, t-shirt as well. "Am I the only one getting naked here?"

There. That's it, what he's been looking for, that flash in Adam's eyes, the twitch to his lips, and Adam's standing up and not so much walking towards Brad as _prowling_. Brad shivers happily, erection entirely restored, and drop his hands to the fly of his perfectly tight jeans.

Adam slides his hands over Brad's, wonderful large hands, and wraps his fingers around both wrists, holding tightly and oh, yeah, he's missed this, he's missed this so fucking much, loves how much _bigger_ Adam is everywhere. Not just his cock, but his hands, his height, his body, his bulk which has nothing at all to do with being _fat_ , thank you so much. "Yeah," Adam says softly. "Right now, I think you are. Strip for me, honey."

Well, okay, he's gotten rid of all the awkward stuff already, but there's not really enough left for an effective striptease. "You're not gonna keep me away from your cock this easily," he warns, voice already breathy, and stays still until Adam lets go of his hands. _Then_ he shimmies out of his jeans, proud and shameless in nudity. He's worked at his body, he knows he looks good, but seeing that knowledge reflected in Adam's face starts heat gathering in his belly, and Adam's not even _touched_ his body yet, never mind his cock.

"I'm gonna keep you away from my cock until you're ready for it," Adam promises and oh, that's the kind of thing that used to be just plain hot, but now he knows Adam well enough to hear the thread of uncertainty new under the bravado, and his heart aches more for it.

"Gonna make me beg?" he challenges. "Because, you know, I'm not _easy_." He kind of is, for Adam and his cock, but that doesn't mean he's going to admit it. Not yet, anyway.

Adam's eyebrows go up so far that Brad's got proof his boy's never had botox and the smoldering mask drops into a laugh as Adam holds both hands out. "Oh my God, come _here_ already."

Brad's perfectly prepared to go except the moment he's taken Adam's hands, Adam pulls hard, and he stumbles off balance with a yelp, falling against Adam. He'd bitch about that except it's exactly where he wants to be, pressed up against the warmth of Adam's body. He takes a contented breath, blinks, and tilts his head back to look up at Adam, eyes narrowed. "Have you even showered today?"

Except Adam's jaw looks clean-shaven and he usually shaves after a shower so his stubble's softer and pores more open and... and Adam's hoisting him up, making Brad squeak _again_ at suddenly finding himself draped over Adam's shoulder. "Adam?"

"You said something about a bed, right, honey?" Adam says serenely and starts walking. Brad can tell he's trying to go smoothly, but every step jolts Adam's shoulder against his stomach and the _idea_ of being picked up and carried around is pretty hot but the reality is he doesn't want to puke down Adam's back.

Struggling's not going to help anything apart from potentially being dropped, though, and Adam's bed can't be that far away, right? So Brad focuses on pulling Adam's t-shirt up so he can get access to skin, grinning in victory when he can drag his nails across Adam's lower back and okay, maybe the sweats have one redeeming virtue, which is that they're already trying to fall down and thank the powers, Adam still doesn't wear underwear which means that he's got a clear if somewhat jolting view of Adam's ass. Adam's cock is glorious, but his ass definitely defies the laws of physics in amazing and wonderful ways.

By the time Adam drops him onto a bed, Brad's kind of dizzy from being upside down, despite all his best intentions. He bounces on the mattress then scoots back until he can spread himself out attractively, arms folded behind his head and eyes fixed on Adam. "Caveman," he accuses carefully. There's something about Adam right now that's making him want to be more gentle and making him want to be _less_ gentle at the same time. Anything to break through the shell that _his_ Adam's hiding in.

"And you love it," Adam says with a faint grin. There's nothing wrong with the grin, it's a beautiful grin, but it needs to turn into a smirk and have a fuckload more confidence behind it.

"Well, duh." Brad rolls his eyes and spreads his legs wide, shameless in invitation. He's been promised Adam's cock and he _wants_ it. "Get down here and fuck me already."

Adam's eyes track down his body and Brad squirms happily. He's _missed_ this, the open appreciation and everything behind it, the heat in Adam's eyes that he'll swear blind he can feel touching him. "Not until you're ready for me."

Brad's ready. He's seriously so fucking ready he could scream, but he's not about to beg. Yet. "Okay," he agrees, rolls onto his side as the dizziness blessedly fades, and discovers that Adam still keeps lube and condoms in the same place. The nightstand drawer gives him exactly what he's looking for and reveals a few other interesting things as well, but it's not the right time for plugs or rings or p-spot vibes. He's totes remembering those for later, though. Like maybe an hour later.

He checks the label on the lube because he still hasn't forgotten the time Adam surprised him with that cinnamon shit he could feel for a week after, not even kidding, then settles back against the pillows, knees splayed wide and hips tilted up. "Do I have to do _everything_ myself?" he asks pointedly and wraps his free hand loosely around his cock, stroking lightly and eyes fluttering half-closed at how good that feels, how sensitive he is already.

"Oh my God," Adam says, in tones of wonder that make Brad really kind of smug. "How are you even real?"

"I'm a freak of nature," Brad says airily. "A really awesome one. I'm taking that as a yes."

He's so not taking that as a yes. He's taking it as another goad and sure enough, he's barely got the cap of the lube flipped off before Adam's hand closes around his wrist, strong and warm.

"When I decide you're ready," Adam says softly, takes the lube away from him and drags his hand away from his cock.

Brad whines and pulls against Adam's hold just for the sake of it, to feel the strength holding him there. For half a heartbeat, Adam's grip falters, then gets firmer again, tight and heavy and wonderful.

"When I decide," Adam says again, sounding more sure about it, and presses Brad's wrist down to the bed, hard enough Brad can feel the mattress dip under him.

Which is really fucking glorious and somehow Brad's apparently managed to forget exactly how much Adam gets to him. Toppy as fuck and in control of both of them, freedom for Brad to really let go and know that Adam's always going to catch him. His breath catches in his throat with a little rough sound, and his cock gets impossibly harder, twitching slightly against his stomach, heat in a rush from the pressure on his wrist. "So decide," he demands. "Decide now, bitch."

Adam laughs and there's about a second for Brad to try to guess what's going on behind that before Adam's just _manhandling_ him, flipping him over like he weighs nothing at all and Adam's hand's gone from his wrist and both of Adam's hands are on his thighs, pressing them further apart.

Brad bends his knees and wriggles, legs spreading wide, and arches his back, lifting his ass in invitation. "Decide," he says again, but it comes out softer, and he's beginning to sound kind of breathless. He can't see Adam from where he is any more, which is a _tragedy_ of epic proportions, but he can feel Adam and it's been a lot longer since he's had that, so he folds his arms and uses them as a pillow, face down and breathing in the scent of Adam's sheets.

Patience has never really been one of his virtues. Waiting for Adam to do something, and _knowing_ he's got to wait because he's not _actually_ going to throw Adam down to the bed and force him, even if he could, anyway, whatever, waiting's kind of like torture. Emotional torture. He wants Adam's cock, but he wants Adam along with it, and he wants Adam to want to give him his cock. And that's a lot of wanting.

He shifts, rocking back towards where he really hopes Adam actually is, and keens his frustration into Adam's bed.

"You look so fucking hot right now," Adam says softly and then, _then_ , finally, Adam's hand is on his ass, big and warm, heavy. "And you know it, don't you?"

"So fuck me already," Brad suggests and seriously, Adam's waiting this long? Issues are one thing but he's there, he's willing, he's getting increasingly desperate to feel at least _something_ inside his ass. Preferably Adam's cock, but he'll take fingers if Adam really thinks he's got to be careful about it.

Adam's hand lifts away, and Brad gets a moment to celebrate that something's finally going to happen - and then Adam's hand is back again. Sharp and swift, heavy, a sting that makes him buck and yelp before the pain sinks into his ass, heat spreading through muscles and feeding into the need. (Okay, so maybe there's a _tiny_ bit of masochist going on.) He squeezes his eyes closed, feeling wetness sticking his eyelashes together, and pants into the cotton, fingers curling, nails scraping against fabric. "Please," he whispers, breathless, and he's going to come apart so fucking fast, he's already coming apart, beginning to shake. "Please, Adam..."

"Oh, babe..." Adam's voice is low and soft, his hands back on Brad's hips, both hands now, something solid to hold him together, still and steady. "You really want this?"

"I really want _you_ , bitch," Brad manages, though he's got no clue how much Adam can hear of it. He doesn't care how much Adam can hear of it, he just needs to say it for himself as much as for Adam, maybe more.

Warm thumbs slide along the crease of his ass, dry, prying his cheeks apart, and Brad can't move, even if he wanted to. (Which he so doesn't, for the record.) He can _feel_ Adam looking at him, how tight he is, and he pulls in a deep breath, purposely pushing back, knowing how it makes the muscles twitch. Knowing Adam can see him move and hearing the sharp intake of breath in reaction.

And then, _fuck_ , then the mattress dips and moves and there's heat, soft heat, air and holy shit, Adam's tongue. Hot and wet, soft and firm, shockingly intimate, stealing his breath and focusing _all_ of his attention on his ass and that maddeningly slow movement, the pressure of Adam's hands, the slick slide of Adam's tongue. It's something he's never been able to forget but never been able to remember with this kind of immediate clarity. He whines, scrabbles at the sheets, and if it wasn't for Adam's hands holding him in place he'd be squirming all over the place because it's too _much_ , it's perfection, it's driving him out of his mind and he can't even think to fight against it, doesn't know if he needs more or if he'd die if Adam stopped. He can _feel_ his ass beginning to open up, feel Adam's tongue beginning to delve inside and he's trembling, uncontrollable, keening need around snatched breaths, dizzy, heart racing.

It's hot. It's ridiculously hot, it's irresistible even if he'd been trying to resist. He rasps in another breath, short, ragged, and _gives_ , relaxing completely, physically flattening himself, entirely at the mercy of Adam's hands hauling him back and Adam's tongue pushing into him. He can't fucking move, he can't stay still, head turned so he can breathe at least a little, eyes wide open but not seeing anything, feeling the need crawl under his skin like a living creature. A living _hungry_ creature, a need that prickles through him, dances over nerves like tiny flames that lick in time with Adam's tongue, making his fingers flex, nails digging into his own wrists where he's linked his hands together. "Please," he manages at last, desperate and broken, scarcely recognizing his own voice. "Adam, fuck, _please_..."

There's a sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a rough chuckle and he'd say something about how he's glad that at least _someone_ finds this amusing except that's not an Adam's-amused sound. That's an Adam's-satisfied-and-horny sound that goes straight to Brad's cock. He bites his lip, and presses his hips down, rubbing against the sheet, something, _anything_ to get friction for those few blissful seconds before Adam drags him back up onto his knees and the sweet pressure's stolen away from him.

" _Adam_..." Shameless now, no pride, nothing but the need eating him up and he doesn't give a fuck how he sounds as long as he gets fucked. As long as he gets Adam's cock pressing him open. He's not exactly been celibate since they split, so it's not going to do him any damage not to get more prep, no matter what Adam's hang-ups might think, but he's not going to mention that right now. He's not thinking of anyone else right now, he's barely thinking at all, he's just needing, horny and hungry and increasingly desperate.

There's no contact, nothing holding him up but his knees, nothing holding him still, nothing from Adam at all. Brad whines again and deepens the arch of his back, rocking back onto empty air, hips tilted and ass offered up in blatant invitation and need. He can't even hear much beyond the heavy pound of his own heartbeat reverberating through his head and the harshness of his breath heating his arm. "Adam."

"You want something, babe?" Finally Adam speaks and thank fuck, Adam sounds as wrecked as Brad's feeling, rasp edging that beautifully smooth voice and nearly, nearly disguising the faint click-slide-squirt of the pump on the lube bottle, and the hissing rip of foil that means a condom's been opened. "Tell me what you want."

Like he's not already practically chanting Adam's name, isn't that enough of a clue? "You," Brad breathes, and moves his head, tries to look over his shoulder to catch sight of Adam. He wants to _see_. "Your cock, Adam, fuck me, fuck me now, fuck me open, give me your cock, make me feel it, let me feel _you_ , fuckmefuckme _fuck_ me..."

It's babble, it doesn't have to make sense, he's not even sure how much of it Adam can understand and he could pretty much cry when what he feels is slick, but it's not Adam's cock. It's Adam's fingers, two of them, wet with lube, pressing unhesitatingly into him in a smooth slide that steals any trace of power of speech he might have had left. Not huge, but still a stretch, enough that he's really feeling it, that unique ache that only ever comes from his ass getting filled, that curls heat up along his spine to bring a flush across the back of his neck, warm enough to feel. His voice cracks and he can't remember when he closed his eyes again but if he can't see Adam, there's nothing else he wants to see, giving over to sensation instead. Sensation and _sound_ , his own pulse beating, his breathing uneven and rough and beyond that, above and around that, the sound of Adam's breathing, Adam's muttered words that don't form language but he can still _understand_ , he knows those sounds, fucking loves those sounds, needs them to remind him to keep breathing, keep living. Keep waiting and wanting.

Maybe he can't beg with his voice and words any more, but he can still beg with his body, ass raised, knees spread, slow writhe that presses Adam's fingers into exactly the right place to make white bright burst in starstreams behind his closed eyelids, stark against the redblack haze. Something too strong and sharp to be called pleasure, too much itself to be called need, streaking heat through him and _fuck_ , he's wrecked already just from Adam's fingers pressing into him, pressing him open and then there's another, whatever, he's lost track, just knows that's not hot enough to be Adam's cock but still feels fucking huge, making him whimper again, shameless, hungry. Needing.

"God, baby," Adam murmurs and oh, right, that's where Adam's other hand's gone to, moving from resting on Brad's hip to rub over his ass and then his lower back, easing him through the ache and the stretch. It's not pain, but it's effort and it's focus, it's _work_ forcing his body to stay relaxed to accept and there's more coming, there has to be more coming. "So fucking hot for me, aren't you? Want it? Want _me?_ "

Shit, yeah, Brad wants. With a little more composure he'd say something, or at least roll his eyes, but with Adam working him open and that rough sound to Adam's voice, Brad's gone. Words aren't happening but he can still manage a sound of protest when Adam moves the heavy warmth of his hand away from his back, up his spine.

Adam hushes him and there's the softness of a kiss right where Adam's hand was about half a heartbeat ago. A kiss, and then a bite that makes Brad yelp, noise shifting to a high-pitched whine when it turns into a different ache. The kind of ache that tells him that if he looks in a mirror later, he'll see Adam's mark on his skin, dark and purpled, deepened by teeth. Fuck if that thought doesn't get him impossibly harder.

That and the slide of fingers withdrawing, replaced by unmistakable blunt hot press against his hole that has to be Adam's cock. There's no way he's forgotten how that feels, even if he'd still really like to be feeling it without a condom. He knows it's safer, knows it's necessary, and if Adam hadn't thought of it he'd even mention it himself, but there's still that romantic wistful part of him that wishes it wasn't there. Which has totes no place here right now, because he's already getting way more than he thought he'd ever have again.

He swallows hard and tries to force his body to stay still, to keep open and relaxed, and drags one hand against the sheet, arm reaching back towards Adam. He knows this, knows it's going to hurt, knows he's going to need to work with Adam, and for that he wants, _needs_ more contact than he's already got. He doesn't want Adam doing anything stupid like stopping.

Not for more than a few seconds, anyway.

Brad's hand catches on something warm, something Adam, and he twists his wrist trying to get a grip. It fails. He tries again, catching on that something again and it pulls away from him, definite purpose behind it. There's a whine all ready to go in the back of his throat, tight and high, until Adam's hand takes his, fingers lacing together tightly. Hot and strong and holy fuck, big, did he mention the big? All big. All fucking gloriously big, the width of Adam's fingers aching slightly as his own are pressed apart. " _Move_ ," he demands breathlessly, and tries (and fails) to screw his ass back and get more of Adam's cock inside him already.

He'd kill to see Adam's face right now. He's got feeling, he's got so much sensation that it's pushing at the inside of his skin and trying to find places to escape, the ache that pushes deep and along his spine, through his hips, down his thighs and across his shoulders, sweat prickling from his skin and needy sounds escaping his mouth, but he can't see. He can't see Adam. He _knows_ it's Adam, knows Adam's with him, he can feel it, he can smell it, that gorgeous blend of Dior Homme and sweat and lust and something else that he'd need to be a better poet to put a name to but is very, very Adam. He can even hear it in the breathless cursing that comes from behind him when he pushes back and Adam's breath stutters, Adam's hand moves to the small of his back and presses down to stop him moving.

"Don't," Adam says, voice sounding tight and high. "Fuck, baby, just...don't."

Oh, yeah, there's the whine. Because Brad doesn't want don't, he wants _do_ , and he's making that perfectly fucking clear, thanks, with another wriggle of his hips, pressing back up against Adam's hand. "Do," he insists. "Do _now_."

Nails dig into his skin and he can _hear_ Adam fighting for control. He tightens his grip on Adam's hand, pulling slightly as if pulling on Adam's arm is going to get him more of Adam's cock. Maybe it will. It's not going to get him less.

"I don't wanna hurt you." Adam pulls back against him, strong, solid, and Brad arches up, shoulders lifting away from the bed, spine arching impossibly deep, to get closer.

"I want," he says, as clearly as possible which to be fair isn't really very fucking clear at all but he figures that's understandable since he's got about an inch of Adam's cock in his ass and no more at all which is way more cruel and teasing than just plain fucking him, "to feel you. I want to hurt. I want your big fucking cock fucking into my ass and I wanna hear you lose it with how fucking tight I am and I fucking want it _now_ , bitch."

Breathing's good, too, but the words are more important if Adam's going to do the insecure thing again. When he's managed to get all of those words out, and more or less comprehensible, he stops to drag in a deep breath, feeling it shaky through him, giddy with it. "So fucking fuck me already."

Already, five minutes ago, _now_ , whatever, he just needs more, skin crawling with the restless need, ass stretched with the beginning of the delicious ache he's never managed to remember this sharply, this well. The pressure on his back's good, it's an anchor, it's contact, and Adam's hand in his is even better, but it all means that Adam's hands aren't on his hips and aren't about to pull him back (bad) . The moment the weight on his back eases up, though, it means he can move (good). Actually, fuck that, better than good, fucking amazing, screwing his hips back hard and getting another inch inside him before Adam's brain apparently gets back in control of his body and Adam's hands move away from Brad's hand and his back to land solidly on his hips, gripping tight and keeping him still.

Brad shudders to a halt, lips parted and dry, breath shallow, and is secretly kind of relieved to get a moment to adjust again. Adam can probably tell that because he's not actually protesting but still, more would be good. Adam having the balls to want more would be even better. At which point Brad realizes that he's still able to think and that is so not the plan. He should be mindless by now. "Adam?"

"Brad," comes the reply, almost instantly, and fuck this shit, not seeing Adam's face is getting old already. He can hear _something_ in Adam's voice, but he can't tell if it's the strain of not fucking him right the fuck now (which is fucked up anyway because there's no reason for Adam not to go right ahead with that plan) or if Adam's having serious second thoughts about the whole fucking scenario. Which is more fucked up and now Brad's thoughts are getting more fucking than his ass.

"Stop," Brad says, more sharply than he'd meant to, and he can feel Adam tensing up, feel the way Adam's hands tighten on his hips before...oh, shit, no, that's not what he meant to stop. He's not going to cry at the loss of Adam's cock, though, because it's temporary. It's very temporary and he's very determined and this way he can curl his legs up and roll onto his back before sitting up, catching Adam's hands before Adam can move away.

Maybe seeing Adam's face isn't the greatest thing. It's definitely not a hot thing right now because stopping was... Okay. This is so not good. Brad wriggles forward, knees spread to let Adam's knees slide between them so he can get closer, and he lets go of Adam's hands so he can get his hands on Adam's face. "Stop," he says again, low and intense. "Stop fucking thinking, bitch."

Adam loops his arms around Brad's waist, loose enough that he can feel the heat and weight of them but no pressure. "Did I hurt you?"

Brad rolls his eyes. "Didn't we do this already?"

"It's not a _game_ , Brad," Adam snaps, but he's not pulling away. "Just fucking tell me, okay?"

"I _want_ \- " he begins, but Adam's not giving him time to finish this time.

"I don't," he says bluntly. "I don't wanna hurt you. Hurting you is _not_ gonna do it for me."

There's way too much thinking and talking going on, and not enough fucking. Adam's always made things complicated. He's always been worth it, but seriously, he needs to just relax and go with the flow a little more. Self-knowledge is a good thing, but this is going kind of far, even for Adam. "I am not Sean," he says plainly. "I am not Jamie. How else d'you want me to say this? You want me to go down on my knees and beg for your cock? Because I'm pretty sure I did that already."

And he _still_ doesn't have it.

"Baby," Adam says, in that quiet and painfully sincere tone. "Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, for..." Okay, if they're going around this one again... "No. You _stopped_." And he's not going to make the mistake of letting Adam do that again. This is _not_ good for his sparkle. Or his erection. That means he's going to have to take action, and action, in this case, means catching Adam by surprise and pushing him back down to the bed.

Adam's bigger than him, heavier than him, and quite possibly stronger than him, so the fact that Adam actually does end up on his back means he has to want to be there. Brad wraps his hand around Adam's condom-covered cock and strokes. Slowly. "Do you _really_ wanna stop right now?"

Brad's intimately familiar with the range of sounds that Adam makes before, during, after, and not involving sex, but this one's definitely new. It's breathless and soft, kind of hungry and kind of beautiful, like the look in Adam's eyes. "I don't wanna stop at all," Adam says, voice sounding strained. "But I don't..."

"Wanna hurt me," Brad completes, wriggling forwards and up Adam's body, reaching behind himself to keep his hold on Adam's cock. "Broken record, princess."

"Brad." Adam wraps his hand around the back of Brad's neck, heavy, warm, and drags him down again and okay, harder angle but Brad's determined and also still has a firm grip on one of Adam's favorite body parts. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Are you listening to me?" Brad counters, close enough he can feel the warmth of Adam's breath on his lips. That just makes it inevitable that he's going to kiss Adam again, hard, swift, nipping at his lip to hear the sharp gasp he gets and feel the twitch in Adam's cock against his palm. "Stopping and talking? Way more pain than...oh, fuck, yeah..."

He shimmies his hips until everything lines up and presses back, not letting go of Adam's cock until it's very securely lodged in his ass, deeper than before and - "Holy shit, have you been _growing?_ "

"Smart ass," Adam grumbles, though it doesn't sound like his heart is in it. He drops his hand to Brad's hip, which is way better because sitting up means Brad can get more leverage and he's so using that. "Tell me when it hurts."

Seriously, Brad is going to round up every guy who ever told Adam that he's not completely amazing in bed and introduce them to extreme pain so they know what it really is. "I'll tell you if it hurts enough that I want to stop," he says firmly. "Now shut up and fuck me, bitch."

It's not that easy, of course. Adam's not been that easy for years, sex is always about more than just sex and while okay, this time it _is_ about more than just sex, it's also _sex_ which is fucking incredible and feeling the width of Adam's cock pressing him open. Filling his ass, stretching him, flashes of heat that wash over his skin, stealing his breath as he presses down, and down, ache turning to a burn, delicious, vital, and how the fuck has he lived without this for the last eternity?

"You feel," he says unevenly, because he'll swear that Adam's cock is big enough that it's compressing his lungs and that's just glorious, "so fucking amazing inside me."

There's a flash of something in Adam's eyes. That's why it's so much better like this, seeing Adam's face, seeing that warmth and that had really better not be gratitude. There's definitely lust with it, though, lust, love, happiness and a kind of a relief that he's going to banish completely. "So tight," Adam whispers, gets his other hand on Brad's hips and then, oh shit, braces himself against the bed somehow and pushes up when Brad bears down which is just fucking amazing. He's full, so full, so stretched his mouth comes open and his eyes close.

Thinking's stopped. Brad hasn't got _space_ left to think. Any space he had is filled with Adam, physically, mentally, emotionally, completely filling him, and fuck, yeah, it hurts some, but that's going to go. It's going to go really soon if he can just get a few seconds without anyone moving anything. He drops forwards with a heavy gasp, hands landing on Adam's shoulders to brace himself, and he digs his fingers in because there's no way he can't. He needs to feel the strength of Adam's body under his, needs to let the tension out through his hands because he's not letting that out through noise until Adam's got past some of the pain insecurity.

Brad figures they can probably work that one out inside a week if they dedicate enough time and energy to it. He's feeling very dedicated.

"Baby," Adam whispers. For a moment, Brad's afraid that he's going to get the hurt question again and he so doesn't want that one right now, but the fear pretty much goes when Adam's hands slide up from his hips, large and warm over his ribs and then around to his shoulder blades, one palm heavy on the back of his neck, dragging him down into a kiss that as far as Brad's concerned can go on for-fucking-ever, thanks. It's maybe not the best kiss ever for technique. It's kind of sloppy, it's unfocused, it's seriously wet, but it's hot and filthy and intimate and amazing enough to distract him from the stretch and burn in his ass. It makes everything _better_ , brighter, sharper, world swimming into a new focus, taking away thoughts and doubts and worries and any idea of taking care of Adam because Adam's got him and there's no way of arguing with that one.

He lets his eyes close and falls into the kiss, hands relaxing on Adam's shoulders, slipping down to rest on the mattress instead of Adam's body. There's the solid strength of Adam's thighs against his ass, the weight of Adam's hands holding his head and shoulders in place, the thick glory of Adam's cock filling him and the slightly soft heat of Adam's belly against his cock, and it's perfect. It's what he wants. It's what he needs, to be surrounded by Adam, filled by him, soaking him in, drowning in him and fucking loving every second.

Except for the bit where Adam's not moving. He's full, fuck yeah he's full, but he's not getting fucked, which is kind of the whole point of the exercise. Okay, part of the whole point. A big part. A vital part. Kissing's awesome, but right now, fucking would be better. "You're not," he whispers fiercely against Adam's lips, "hurting me."

That gets punctuated with a not-very-gentle bite to Adam's lower lip, and then sliding his chin along Adam's jaw, pushing until... oh, yeah, Brad remembers this. Remembers this place, right here, right below Adam's ear, the skin that's amazingly soft and warm and hair-free and if he licks it, nice and swift with his tongue pointed, it gets Adam's hips jerking and it still fucking does, sudden shift and push of Adam's cock moving inside him that pushes his breath out in a stuttering groan. Because the other thing he's remembering is that right here, like this, curled over Adam with his back bowed, Adam's cock glides right across his prostate and nothing else has ever, will ever feel like this, the intensity burning through him, needhungerwant _love_ that underlies everything and makes the whole universe sparkle bright. This is not pleasure. This is a whole level too much and too amazing to be pleasure. This is _transcendental_. Fuck Buddhist meditation, sex with Adam could bring world peace (in the unlikely possibility that Brad's ever going to let him have sex with anyone else ever again).

He catches Adam's earlobe between his teeth, tugs lightly, and presses his nose into Adam's hair, breathing him in. "This," he points out helpfully, with pauses for more kisses and to work out exactly how much leverage he's got to move his hips (answer: nowhere near enough to get control), "is where you say it."

Adam fucking laughs, bitch, bright and breathless and warm, his hand hot on the back of Brad's neck, thumb pushing up into his hair. "Pushy fucking bitch," he says, voice light and torn, and his other hand slides down Brad's back, swath of heat that's probably even visible rising from his skin and then, fuck, then...

Brad has about half a heartbeat to be thankful that Jamie and Sean and whoever-else-the-stupid-bastard-was didn't get long enough to damage Adam's essential Adam-ness, and then his brain's fried because his nerves are shorting out all over the fucking place. Because Adam's fingers are sliding over his hole, he can feel them, pressing lightly against the stretched skin where Adam's cock is so beautifully lodged. He whines, helpless, wanting, and shimmies his hips. It's all the movement he can manage, trying to push back to that touch and trying to _move_ without actually dislodging Adam's hand. "Love you," Adam murmurs right against his ear, lets go, moves both hands to Brad's hips, and moves. It's an incredible slow undulation that starts somewhere around Adam's shoulders and goes in a smooth roll through his hips and onwards. Brad doesn't really care about onwards. The way it moves Adam's hips is enough to have him panting, pressing the heels of his hands against the mattress to push himself up and go with that movement, take it into him and work with it even as tension coils through him, hot along his spine, heavy in his chest, tight in his balls and he can't even remember the last time he came without either a hand or mouth to his cock but if Adam keeps doing that, next time's going to be really fucking soon. He'd known it, known the love was there but _hearing_ it, that's something else entirely. Something he's apparently been needing before he can really let go.

"Love you too, princess," he manages. It's mostly gasp but at least partly speech, what matters is saying the words before he gives up on trying to speak and just bites Adam's shoulder, teeth sinking hard into that gorgeous swell of lean muscle as instinct takes over and rocks his hips down, catching the next roll and riding it, bliss carrying him through. It's like being high, this amazing mix of perception blurring away everything that's not Adam and sharpening every sensation. The stretch-ache-slide-burn of Adam's cock pushing into him, sliding out, taking him deeper and setting a rhythm that his heartbeat and breathing are both trying to match. The press of Adam's fingers on his hips, hard enough to bruise, another kind of ache that goes straight to his neglected cock, so fucking hard, he's forgotten how it feels to be this hard, this sensitive. The scent of sweat and sex, cologne and aftershave, hair product and skin-cleanser that's only ever meant Adam. The salt-sharp taste of Adam's skin when he licks over it, the soft-hard-smooth-warmth of it against his cheek when he presses his face to it and tries to remember to keep breathing as well as everything else that his body currently (and rightly) considers higher priority. Like fucking.

There's a rhythm to it, but it's not steady. It's building, always building, it's only steady in the increase, in the way they're moving faster together, in the way that he's slamming his hips down hard and finally getting the same back from Adam, that smoothness giving way to sharp, jagged thrusts that come closer to shattering him than the sinuous cyclical rocking ever could. "Do it," he hisses into Adam's throat, dropping down to his elbows, closer, still moving, can't stop moving. "Do it, honey, give it to me, c'mon, let go, fucking give it up..."

He wants to come. Of course he wants to come, he's so fucking close, he's aching for it, just a touch would be enough to set him off. But if he comes while Adam's still fucking him, all those amazing endorphins are going to start buzzing away and then it really _will_ hurt (at least for a little while) and that's so not what he wants. So, Adam's got to come first. Adam's _going_ to come first, Brad's determined, and he reinforces that determination by squeezing down on Adam's cock, tighter, wanting to feel it more, wanting to take him there.

"Oh my _God_ ," Adam says, a kind of helplessness in his tone, snaps his hips up once twice and Brad can feel it, he swears he can feel it. Not Adam actually coming in his ass, he knows he can't feel jizz up there, but he can feel the orgasm. He can feel the tension that pushes through Adam's body, crests, and shatters with a shudder, the way Adam's fingers spasm on his ass before tightening to force his hips still and close. He can feel the way Adam's heart is beating, strong rapid pulse against his chest, can feel the heat where their skin's sliding together, can feel the way Adam's breath is ruffling through his hair.

Brad lets go. His knees slide down the mattress until he's pretty much sprawled on top of Adam, trusting that Adam can take his weight because he's totally a feather and Adam can say something if he's got a problem, anyway. Which Brad will ignore because fuck if he's moving right now. He's got Adam's heart beating against his, he's got Adam's skin touching his which is something he's missed so fucking much he's not even realized, he's got Adam's cock, still thick and hard, filling his ass, and he's got his own cock pressed against Adam's stomach, which is a place where it's very happy indeed, thank you so much.

It'd be happier if there was any kind of movement but whatever, it's perfect for now and it gives him a moment to remember that breathing is good and Adam's cock doesn't legiterally fill him up so much that his lungs are compressed.

He rubs his hand over Adam's shoulder, relearning the shape of it. Stardom's been good to Adam's body; there's more muscle there than there used to be, firmer. More to get his teeth into and he's so getting his teeth into that later. Adam's not going to be walking away from this without plenty of Brad's marks on his skin. Adam's not going to be walking away from this, period.

The movement gets response. Adam's grip on his ass eases, delicious ache flooding in as blood supply returns to the lines where Adam's fingers have been pressing into his flesh, and one big, wide hand sweeps up his spine, leaving a wash of warmth that makes Brad shiver and then whine, soft and happy because the shiver's moved his ass around Adam's cock. He can feel the skip in Adam's heartbeat against his own when Adam gasps, then chuckles, low and throaty, breathless and fucking beautiful. The hand keeps moving, settles on the back of his neck with fingers pushing into his hair and pulls him up into a kiss that Brad goes into willingly. No, fuck that, a lot more than willingly. Enthusiastically, opening up to it, wet and messy and hungry, teeth scraping his demand into Adam's tongue and lips.

They need more practise, obviously, because he's lost the ability to make out with Adam for-fucking-ever without breaks to breathe. He needs that one back, but first he needs to breathe. "We are so not done."

"Better believe it," Adam agrees with the kind of grin that, shit, Brad's missed like oxygen, and hasn't seen for way too long. It's a warmer grin than the ones from earlier in the evening, stronger, somehow more solid and it's a grin he's got to kiss again.

It's practically mandatory.

He doesn't get as much of the kiss as he wants, though, because Adam's pulling away too fucking soon. Brad whines, petulant and shameless, but Adam's relentless and... oh, well. Okay. Adam's got his hands on Brad's back, on his shoulders, and that roll shifts Adam's cock in Brad's ass enough that he can feel biological imperative overriding poetic reality. By the time Adam's rolled them over so Brad's the one flat on his back, Adam's cock is no longer in Brad's ass and Brad's _empty_ and not happy about it. Though at least he's not empty with condom still in his ass, that one's no kind of fun and he's so been there more than once.

"You need to be back in me now," he says, as clearly as possible while Adam's mouth is on his throat, which isn't really anywhere near clear but it's still coherent, really, _shit_ , Adam's mouth is amazing, hot and focused, alternating soft kisses and bites that aren't enough, that he wants more of, that he wants to feel, desire and the need to come restless and alive every place Adam's mouth touches his skin.

"I so don't," Adam says, bites Brad's right nipple (holy shit, Brad's so getting that piercing he keeps hesitating over), kisses his stomach, and then Brad stops thinking completely because Adam's amazing mouth slides over his cock. All that's left in Brad's mind is heartfelt appreciation and vague awareness that he's being very vocal about that appreciation, babbling high-pitched nonsense that slips from words into sound as the orgasm he's been aching for crashes through him, lifting him high, Adam's mouth soft and wet and hot on his cock, Adam's hair warm and smooth tangling under his hands, Adam's back strong and hard against his heels. Adam _everywhere_ , exactly as he should be.

By the time Brad's back from the stratosphere, Adam's head's back up next to his. Not completely in focus, more like soft focus, but soft focus is good. Soft focus is easier. Soft focus is everything. Brad's pretty sure his nerves are working in soft focus too, body both heavy and relaxed and fizzing with energy at the same time. _Sparkling_.

With great effort, he rolls over, curls one leg around Adam's hips, and wriggles in until he's pressed up against Adam and Adam's arms come around him, surround him in the warmth and skin contact he's craving. So he's a shameless cuddler post-orgasm, that's no kind of secret, and not something he's giving up on anytime it gets him cuddled by Adam. For a seriously hot and sexy guy, Adam's a champion cuddler. And kisser. Brad bites Adam's jaw in demand because words are still too soft focus to actually work, and moans aloud in delighted appreciation when it gets him kissed, Adam's tongue big and warm and tasting of _him_ , bittersharp pleasure cutting through the soft focus.

He snuggles in, finding the curve of Adam's shoulder where his head fits perfectly. "Next time," he says drowsily, "you're gonna make me come on your cock."

Adam's hand drifts down to cover his ass, hot and deliciously possessive. "There's gonna be a next time?"

Duh, Brad thinks, and just about manages not to say it aloud or roll his eyes. His eyes are too sleepy-sated-relaxed for that, anyway. "Better believe it, bitch. You love me."

Which Adam hasn't said enough yet, but Brad's got plans for that, too. Plans that involve Adam's cock in his mouth, stretching his lips, making his jaw ache and he's going to need to practice again to be able to deep throat Adam's Cock of Glory, but that's okay. He's planning on plenty of time to practice, and that kind of practice is pretty much guaranteed to get Adam vowing love repeatedly and fervently.

"I really do," Adam agrees softly, and that's enough for right now. "I mean, you're not gonna be too sore?"

Brad bites Adam's collarbone. Hard. Then flexes his back, hips shifting against Adam, enough movement to let him really _feel_ how sore he's going to be, the gloriously satisfying ache that's left from being thoroughly fucked, and groans, low and throaty, unmistakeable enjoyment of the sensation. The thought of Adam fucking him again while he's still sore and sensitive is nearly enough to stir his cock back to life already. "I'm gonna be exactly sore enough," he says firmly, "for you to pin me to the bed and fuck me until I'm screaming your name. Which is totes a challenge, so get your beauty sleep while you can. You're gonna need your strength."

Adam laughs, quiet and incredulous, and his hand tightens on Brad's ass for a moment before letting go long enough to pull a blanket over both of them. (Fucking air-conditioning making Adam need to let go of him at _all_.) "How are you real, Brad Bell?"

"I'm unreal." And Adam so knows that. "So sleep. Oh, yeah." One final thought occurs before Brad lets his eyes close. "And you might wanna let your friends know you're okay but you're gonna be out of contact for the next week."

"Mmm?" Adam's arm slides back around Brad.

"You're gonna be busy having masses and masses of amazing sex," Brad murmurs contentedly, and falls asleep.


End file.
